Last night I joined a group of friends for a performance of Euripides’ rarely produced
The Bacchae, directed by JoAnne Akalaitis. It was an impressive feast for eye and ear, we were very glad we saw it. That being said, volumes could be added.
Pentheus being torn apart by Agave and Ino, Attic red-figure vase.
First, thanks to the Public for doing this 2400 year-old "masterpiece" which I think may be impossible for a 21st century audience to grasp in any way near the way Euripides intended. JoAnne Akalaitis made her first brilliant move when she got Philip Glass to compose an original score. The music not only serves as a "sound score" in the contemporary Broadway sense, but also provides beautiful choral music for the chorus and some almost operatic solos for Dionysus.
There are things that make this tragedy almost undoable today. One is the long speeches by the chorus that are essential for the narrative and thematic lines. The chorus in this production (an ensemble of 12 women) is comprised of the women who have followed Dionysus back from Asia minor. They are called on to sing the words Euripides has given them—in the resonant harmonies Glass has provided—and also to dance/mime the action and themes. This collaboration with Glass's music is one thing that saves this production from boredom and propels it toward a mesmerizing beauty. On the other hand, there are times when the ensemble’s gestures border on the mundane. There is an unevenness in the ensemble. Some are better singers, and some are better movers. And sometimes they don't all equally support the visual image.
Both Dionysus and Pentheus are very young men, prematurely full of themselves. Teiresias and Cadmus are very old men (well-played by veterans André de Shields and George Bartenieff). There is no one in the play that we can truly identify with.
Dionysus should be that personage. But he is forever proclaiming his god-ness, while impersonating a mortal. Here is where the production might have employed some distancing device, like a giant mask in his early scenes. As played by Jonathan Groff (of
Spring Awakening fame) with energy and swagger and an impish disposition, the young and young-in-heart in the crowd can side with Dionysus as a sexy young man who has a sense of humor and makes fun of Pentheus' narrow vision. But in the end, Dionysus shows no mercy and no compassion in precipitating the tragic horror. And the Olympian aspect is seen only as miraculous powers. The divinity of Dionysus represents the flowing life-force itself, whether bubbling out as blood, water, wine or honey. It is a primal, chaotic eruption of nature—uncontrollable and amoral.
The great horror of the play, Agave's realization of her own brutality, is almost too big for human understanding. Again, I think we need a device to accommodate the emotion. I would have preferred a silent scream, perhaps supported by some of that wonderful Glass music—or percussion. But here the talented Joan Macintosh is made to actually scream and sustain it for what seems like two minutes.
This is a play about wisdom and seeing and understanding. None of the characters have clear understanding and self-awareness, and in the end, none are wise. Teiresias with his fawnskin cloak, ready to dance to Bacchus says, "we are the only men right minded; the rest are perverse." Pentheus in drag says, "Women are not to be subdued by brute force. I will hide among the pinetrees." Even the chorus suffers at the enormity of Dionysus' vengeance.
Akalaitis knew what she was getting into. She is quoted in the program, "maybe there's catharsis in
Twelfth Night because at the end, you say, I had a great time. I always feel the kind of theater I'm interested in doing is when the audience leaves feeling disturbed and nauseous."
She got the desired effect.
The first harbinger is the cormorant who visits Prospect Lake early in the spring each year.
On election day, I stood in line at the polling center with a woman who was close to a nervous breakdown. She was so agitated about the vote. She poured out her anxieties after brazenly asking if I was voting for the new savior. She hugged me after she voted. There was a general feeling that we could all exhale finally in the days after the election. Those who were talking about moving to Canada if Obama did not win, were ecstatic, floating on a cloud of optimism and renewed hope. Even two weeks post-election, when I went jogging in Prospect park, the beautiful fall colors could not have been the only reason I saw smiles and good will on the faces of every person I passed. . . . There has been further cause for abated breath in recent weeks as we face economic realities that represent greater obstacles than most of us thought possible. Nevertheless, we continue to go through our daily patterns while watching +400 points and -400 points corresponding to the rotation of the earth on its axis—if nothing else. Let us continue to breathe . . . in and out, with presence. If you would take a break from your daily habits, and like to see some more fall colors, visit Autumn in the Park.
Just after a heavy rain the air feels fresh and clean. One walks about watchful of puddles, but so often I am unaware of how all the living flora holds the water. Last Saturday I got a close-up view of worlds in a drop of water.
